


Anchor, Chain

by lennydotdotdot



Series: Broken Halla Horns [3]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: (kind of), Alternate Continuity, Clan Lavellan - Freeform, Dad Inquisitor, Fic of Fic, Gen, M/M, Minor canon divergence, Multiple Inquisitors, Multiple Lavellans, Other, POV Alternating, PTSD, Twins, mostly gen with some m/m solavellan, somniari character, what if, young herald
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-11
Updated: 2019-06-23
Packaged: 2020-04-24 10:49:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19171747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lennydotdotdot/pseuds/lennydotdotdot
Summary: The Herald is not the Inquisitor.Another continuity with my other teen Inquisitor Falon where his twin receives the Anchor instead, and Clan Lavellan sends its First to see to their safety. (The result of me digging through my various word docs.) Alternate title: Too Many Lavellans





	1. The Twins

As Solas descended the steps into the dungeon, he realized something was wrong. The door to the lower chamber was open, the guards missing from their posts. He hurried down, half-expecting to see the Seeker shaking down the boy inside.

He’d already come across the Dalish boy, a youth branded with Mythal’s image, from his forehead to his chin with roots that clutched his round, child’s face. He hadn’t woken except to cry out in pain, and hadn’t spoken except incoherently in his sleep. The others in the room were quick to dismiss it, though Solas encouraged them to take note in case he didn’t wake.

Of course, Solas knew, if he didn’t wake then that was that. The end had already come. If he was well enough for the Seeker to terrorize him, then the situation was less dire.

It was not the Seeker who he saw standing over the boy, but another Dalish elf, this one branded as well, and armed. It seemed he had attempted to rouse the other, and Solas’s entry startled him into drawing a long, ugly hunting knife. He only relaxed slightly when Solas held up a hand in a placating gesture.

“Sorry, Lethallin,” the boy said, “I need to take him home now.”

The boy’s face had halla horns carved in – Ghilan’nain’s symbols – so he was of age among the Dalish, but his voice was still high. He was fifteen, sixteen years old. Seventeen at the _very_ oldest, if he was only cursed with a child's face and voice. He was an infant. More than that, he looked too much like the boy who’d fallen upon the anchor, the same features underneath different blood writing, a mirror image.

“If you move him,” Solas replied, “he will die.”

“And if he stays, the shemlen will execute him,” the boy replied.

Solas took a deep breath as he regarded the boy. Before his slumber, he might have laughed at this display. The boy was trembling, had probably never taken a life beyond the animals he hunted. And he meant to threaten him. But in Solas's current state, he wondered if he could stop a truly determined opponent. And his attention turned to the boy on the floor, the one who had been unlucky enough to somehow acquire the anchor.

He gave it a little nudge.

The mark erupted and the boy wailed pitifully as it tore up his arm, and in a second the intruder dropped his knife and slid across the floor to his friend’s side, hissing quietly in elvhen, “ _I’m here, brother, I’m here. I’m sorry.”_

Solas strode across the floor quickly. It would be simple at this point to remove the intruder from the picture, to cast a spell and leave him asleep on the floor, harmless enough that any of the Seeker’s guards could come and take him away.

But then the boy on the floor cracked an eye open. And he smiled.

“Falon.” He coughed. Tried to laugh, even. “Deshanna will be so angry with you.”

“Yeah. And you’ll never let me hear the end of it,” Falon said, not realizing the boy had already fallen back under.

Enough was enough. Solas began suppressing the mark again, waving his hands out as if he were healing him. He’d already tried to take the mark away, but he couldn’t without killing the boy outright. And there would be no guarantee it would even be taken in a useful state. For now, he needed this boy alive.

Falon didn’t stop him from attempting to heal the boy. In fact he moved out of the way almost instinctively. “That thing. He didn’t do it. He couldn’t have done that.”

“I know,” Solas said. “Your brother has been affected by some sort of foreign magic – the same magic that caused the Breach in the sky. It is fortunate, perhaps, because we may have a key in his mark that might be turned against the Breach.”

Falon looked down at the boy on the floor, and Solas watched as his face screwed together tightly, baring teeth like a beast in pain as tears and mucous dribbled down his face.

And then he slowly looked up, muttered, “I didn’t tell you that.”

Solas’s mouth dipped open as he tried to figure what Falon was referring to.

“You called him my brother. I didn’t say he was.”

Solas couldn’t help but laugh. “Ah. You called him _malin_. That means sibling, correct?”

Falon’s ears twitched at the familiar word. And Solas realized that little mistake had worked to his advantage. The boy seemed to trust him _more_ knowing he spoke the language.

“Yes, it does.” Falon turned his sights away from Solas, and back to the boy on the floor. “This thing. You know what it is?”

Too well. “I believe so.”

Another long pause.

“If he stays here, I stand a chance of helping him. I can do nothing if you remove him.” He waited for a response, and when he didn’t get one he gently touched the boy on the arm and asked, “Falon?”

The boy’s ears had dipped low, and his face was solemn. “I’m not leaving him.”

“The Seeker would dislike that.”

“Fuck the Seeker,” Falon said. “I’m good at staying hidden. They won’t see me unless someone tells them I’m here. Are _you_ going to?”

“How could I possibly tell them when I haven’t seen anyone?”

\--

Solas scarcely had time to eat or sleep, but he found that Falon was true to his word. He was very good at hiding. When servants came bearing the alchemical remedies he’d asked for, they’d thoughtfully brought a bit of stew and bread along with the broth for his patient. He moved to pass the food along to Falon, only to realize he’d lost sight of him. Once the servants were completely vanished, Falon reappeared from a thin crevice in the wall and resumed his place across from Solas.

“Are you hungry?” Solas asked.

The boy shrugged. Solas offered him the stew.

“That’s yours. They’ll get weird if you ask for seconds later, I bet.”

“When’s the last you’ve eaten?” Solas asked. The boy had to stop and think about it, and he pushed the soup and the bread his way. “Here.”

Falon didn’t say anything at first, but after a few minutes he relented and tore into the stew as though he hadn’t eaten in years. And given how small the boy was, if he were chronically underfed it wouldn’t surprise Solas. While they were waiting, he had worked up the nerve to ask how old the boy was and he answered that they were both fifteen, due to turn sixteen in a few weeks.

And then the boy offered him the bread.

“It’s hard to do magic if you haven’t eaten, right?”

And Solas reluctantly took the bread and picked at it as he worked. He was able to get Athim to keep down a little of the elfroot broth, though his face curdled with disgust as it worked its way down. That would help with the fever, but it did nothing for the mark….

And suddenly Falon scrambled towards the back of the cell, moving to hide himself behind a barrel. It almost did not occur to Solas to stop looking at him, but he quickly put his head down over his patient as the Seeker stormed into the dungeon, not clad in armor as she had been before, but still bearing her sword and shield and wearing a scowl as sharp as ever.

“It has been two days. What are you even doing down here?”

Solas did not turn his head to look at her, but instead attempted to get another portion of the broth into Athim. “The same thing I have been doing. Attempting to stabilize him so we might use this to our advantage.”

“You are wasting my time, mage,” the Seeker growled. “That thing is killing people because of _him_. And if you do not find something of use by tomorrow I will—”

“You’ll what, Seeker?” Solas snapped.

“I will have you tried for apostasy!”

Solas stood up abruptly. “Go on, then. Kill me, kill him, and doom the world.”

For a moment, the Seeker looked as if she might. She kept a hand on her sword, her brow hard as stone.

And then her eyes darted to the shadows and she suddenly shoved Solas to the ground and surged forward, blocking Falon’s escape by pointing a sword to his throat.

“Who is this?” she snapped. “ _Another_ apostate?”

The boy promptly dispensed with all decorum, and he unleashed a deluge of curses that likely amounted to every invented insult he could create with his limited understanding of the language. Not the least of which amounted to “ _The Dread Wolf make armor from your bones_.”

Creative.

“Stop—this is Falon. He and Athim – the one with the mark – are brothers. He came to investigate, and I did not feel it was important to remove him.”

Cassandra swiveled her head to regard Solas, and in that instant Falon ducked low under Cassandra’s blade and sprinted under her arm through to the door. She briefly gave chase as he scurried to the other side of Solas, apparently still unwilling to abandon his brother even now.

“And you hid this from me,” she snapped. “I should have _both of you_ imprisoned.”

“If that is your wish,” Solas muttered. “But I expect Falon’s presence has been a positive influence on Athim. He spoke – coherently – when Falon arrived. What would be the purpose of removing him in that light?”

Cassandra scowled at them, and said, “Tomorrow. And you. I want you out. Now.”

Falon’s brow formed an equally hard line to Cassandra’s, and for a moment Solas realized they were inches from a fight. He turned to Falon and gestured to the door. “Go. Get some rest. I’ll take care of Athim.”

Falon’s expression softened only a hair, but he relented. “Fine.”

“Let him stay in my cabin,” Solas offered.

“Why not invite the whole forest while we’re at it,” Cassandra muttered. And she roughly grabbed the boy’s shoulder and spun him around, ushering him out of the dungeon.

\--

The boy was completely exhausted, which worked to Cassandra’s benefit as she had no intention of babysitting him. She led him to Solas’s barely used cabin, told him to stay put (or else she’d find a cell for him), and posted a guard outside the door. She’d only just come to inform him that he was under guard when she realized he’d already stoked a fire and fallen asleep in a chair beside it. It made her realize that she had not slept more than an hour or two herself, since this all began. If the boy’s brother was truly to awaken soon, she would need to be rested as well.

\--

Falon woke in the cabin when he heard screaming outside. Cassandra took his weapons when she sent him to the cabin, so he frantically scoured the drawers until he found a nice, sharp kitchen knife that would have to do for now. And then he rushed outside and realized one of those rifts had opened not a hundred feet from the cabin, and whatever guard Cassandra had posted to keep him from his brother was currently being mauled by a shade.

He dropped to a crouch as he attempted to sneak up behind the thing, but as he did he realized this wasn’t the only one. There were more coming through the rift as he moved.

He acted quickly, jamming the knife through the shade’s neck and swiping the guard’s discarded sword. If he was alive, he was damn close to dead. And Falon could use that sword better than he could right now.

Luckily, he didn’t have to. A stream of fire poured over his shoulder and for a moment, he felt a rush of excitement and relief. That had to be Athim. But when he looked over his shoulder, all he saw was Solas. And his heart sank.

“Athim—how is he—”

“Stable, for now,” Solas said. “Come. When he wakes, Cassandra will expect to meet us at the forward camp.”

“What?” he asked. “Why?”

“The mark must be tested on something smaller than the Breach, but if all goes well it may be used to seal the Breach itself.”

Falon stopped. “And then what?”

Solas glanced over his shoulder. “Of that, I do not know. But I am quite certain of what will happen if we fail.”

Falon nodded, and followed him.


	2. The Herald Awakens

When the bridged collapsed from beneath Cassandra and the young elf, she moved to her feet quickly. Her charge, Athim, Solas had called him _,_ still struggled to rise to his feet as two shades descended upon them. Cassandra took up her stance and let the Shade catch his claws on her shield, then ran him through. Again and again, until its form deflated.

From the corner of her vision she saw the other Shade freeze solid, and Cassandra turned to see Athim wielding an oaken staff, sighing deeply as he returned to her. She turned her blade on him.

“Drop your weapon.”

She regretted it immediately, as Athim stared at her, wide eyed, and let the staff clatter to the ground as he raised his hands in surrender. He had tried to _help_ her, and she had responded with threat of violence. She took a deep breath.

“No. Pick it back up…you do not need a weapon, but you should have one.” She sheathed her sword, and patted Athim’s shoulder. “I cannot protect you.”

Athim reached down and picked up the staff.

Maker, she thought. He was younger than she was when she first entered the front lines. “Come. The path may be out, but we have our mission.”

Athim nodded. He’d spoken scarcely a word since he woke, and when he did speak his words were slow and stammered.

_Maker. He is too young for any of this_

It was all she could do to ensure he survived until they reached the Breach. Then the rest would fall in the Maker’s hands.

\--

“Thrasher.”

Falon blinked when Varric called him such, and pointed mutely to himself with his thumb, since the rest of his fingers were coiled around the hilt of his dagger.

“I think that fits,” Varric said, cocking his crossbow for another shot.

Solas laughed.

“Aaaaand,” Varric shot another bolt through a Shade. “Chuckles.”

Now Falon laughed, as he circled around the wounded demon and sliced one of its arms off, then drove the blade into the spot where the heart should have been. The Shade lost its form, and crumpled to the ground as nothing more than remnants of flesh.

“You cannot be serious,” Solas muttered.

“Sure can, Chuckles,” Varric said with a wink.

“What about you?” Falon asked.

“I can’t make up a nickname for _myself,”_ Varric chided.

As irritating as the nickname was, Varric’s little quips and banter seemed to keep Falon’s spirits up. They’d been fighting at this rift for a long while, too long, and many of the other soldiers had already been overwhelmed. Falon’s youth was an advantage here – though his face was flushed and he reeked of sweat, he still had energy to spare.

“Well that’s no good,” Falon said, his voice thin as he caught his breath. Solas held back another wave of demons with a firebolt into the rift.

This would be easy, had he been at full strength. But instead _he_ was becoming tired. He wondered how much longer he could keep this up.

“What’s no good about it, Thrasher, you need help?”

“I don’t know much about you,” Falon said. Varric’s quips were doing wonders to keep him calm in the midst of all this chaos. “I could call you Crossbow, but that’s not very creative.”

A Rage demon, now, his body charred and flaming, emerged from the rift, towering over Solas, Falon, and Varric each. He was about to warn Falon not to get close when the ice around the demon rose from the ground and froze it to the ground.

He saw Athim and Cassandra from the corner of his eye, Athim twirling an oaken staff while Cassandra surged forward and sliced the demon down the middle.

Solas moved quickly, closing the distance between him and Athim in a few quick strides and grabbing his hand and forcing it into the sky. “Quickly, before more come through—”

And he gave it another _push_ , and it took more concentration than he would have liked it to, but Athim took hold of the Anchor and pulled the rift closed. Solas felt his racing heart calm. Then all was not lost. Not yet.

\--

The first of the twins was damn similar to Junior. Whatever anger he had, it all went into his enemies. But the second was a quiet boy – shorter hair than Jr, cropped close to his head at one point but beginning to curl into little whorls now. And his markings, damn, Varric could never remember what the markings meant, but they looked like a tree, roots on his chin, branches on his cheeks and forehead.

Andraste’s tits, they didn’t do a thing to make him look any older.

Solas released Athim’s hand and began to introduce himself, but he was interrupted when Thrasher threw his arms around Athim and squeezed him tight. Varric could hear him whisper _something_ in elven, but couldn’t make it out.

If it was something Daisy had said in front of him, he forgot.

Their embrace lasted only a few seconds, and Varric made sure to tap the new one on the shoulder. “You should probably thank Chuckles here. He kept that mark from killing you while you slept.”

Athim looked to Solas and nodded. He spoke in a way that was at once too quick to be understood and too slow for his own liking – he stumbled over the words as he stuttered out, “Then I’m in your de…de…debt.”

Varric couldn’t decide if that was from fear, or if it was normal for Athim. But Solas was gracious enough not to comment, and only said, “Of course,” and returned to speak with Cassandra.

“Sorry kids, adults are talking,” Varric teased.

Falon gave him _exactly_ the indignant look he’d been expecting, but Athim seemed to sigh in relief as he turned to his brother and muttered, “Gh-ghilainan enaste.”

“Mythal enaste,” Falon replied.

Now that much Varrric understood.

He could hear as Falon whispered, “Did she hurt you?” to Athim, and Varric decided enough was enough and it was time to put an end to some of Cassandra’s composure.

\--

“You are both Dalish, are you not?” Solas asked as they walked. “But clearly away from your clan.”

“Falon wasn’t meant…meant to follow me,” Athim said.

He had not felt self-conscious of his speech before, not really, there had been no need. He’d been told he didn’t speak til after he turned four, so among his clan at least people were patient, willing to wait. Now, seeing Cassandra, Solas, and Varric flinging quips and orders and warnings one after the other, it seemed rather dire that Athim couldn’t.

“You can’t tell me you’re mad at me _now,”_ Falon replied.

“ _I’m_ not,” Athim said. “Deshanna though…”

“Athim was supposed to observe,” Falon told Solas. “Not pick up souvenirs. So neither of us did what we were meant to.”

Varric barked out a laugh, and Athim gave Falon a quick shove, which only made him grin back.

“You could’ve g…gotten hurt. And I wouldn’t have known.”

“Play nice now,” Varric warned.

The surges of energy from the mark had waned, compared to how violent they were earlier, and for that Athim was relieved. Falon still worried, still dropped whatever he was doing to come and see that Athim was alright, and that alone made it well worth it that Falon had disobeyed, that he wouldn’t be alone. He'd never say it though - Falon would never let him live it down.

And he was especially glad when they reached the bridge where Cassandra marched up to a woman in a purple cloak and chainmail, who argued with a man in chantry garb. He remembered her, he was with Cassandra when he first woke. She turned to them and said, “Good, they’re here. Chancellor Rodrick, this is—"

Falon put a hand on Athim’s shoulder protectively as the man snapped, “I know who he is.”

Now he worried less for his own safety and more for Rodrick’s. Creators, that was going to be a hard one to say.

“As Grand Chancellor of the Chantry, I hereby order you to take this _criminal_ to Val Royeaux to face execution.”

Falon moved between them, but before he could say a word Cassandra had already thrown her hands up and snapped, “Order me? You are a glorified clerk! A bureaucrat!”

“And you are a thug—but a thug who supposedly serves the Chantry.”

Leliana intervened. “We serve the Most Holy, Chancellor.” She shot a look to Cassandra. “As you well know.”

“Justinia is _dead_! We must elect a replacement and obey _her_ orders on the matter.”

Falon interjected, “So there’s nobody in charge here.”

Athim grabbed Falon’s hand and pointed to the Breach and said, “Isn’t clo-clo-clo…”

“Closing?” Falon offered.

“The Br-br-br…” Damn it, everyone was staring and he couldn’t get the words out and Rodrick looked just on the cusp of interrupting him. “The fucking Breach more gods-damned important?”

Varric cackled. Rodrick was less amused.

“ _You_ brought this on us in the first place—”

“No he didn’t—” Falon began. Solas stopped him with a hand on his shoulder and a stern look.

“Call a retreat, Seeker. Our position here is hopeless.”

Cassandra shook her head. “We can stop this before it is too late.”

“How?” Now Rodrick sounded less angry, more tired. “You won’t survive long enough to reach the temple, even with all your soldiers.”

Athim interjected – “And I won’t survive if you take me to Val Royeaux. If I can hel-help, it needs to be now.”

“We need to get to the Temple,” Cassandra said. “It’s the quickest route.”

“But not the safest,” Leliana posited. “Our forces can charge as a distraction while we go through the mountains.”

“Listen—” Rodrick said, “Abandon this now, before more lives are lost.”

Rodrick’s plea was punctuated by the Breach rumbling in the sky, and the mark on Athim’s hand crackling in response. He braced for another wave of pain, a bad one, it was going to be bad, but it wasn’t as bad as it was before, and it passed quickly.

Falon was more concerned than he was, immediately turning to Athim and asking, “ _Are you hurt, brother?”_

“ _No harm,”_ Athim said. Elvhen was easier. It had fewer tricky sounds like _Rodrick_ to utter. “ _Go the mountain way.”_

Falon translated. “He said we should take the mountain path, then.”

Cassandra turned to Lelianna to give her orders, and began to march.

\--

When they finally did manage to make it to the temple, it contained the only rift they’d yet to see that was not already pouring massive demons out to the other side. But Athim felt every hair on the back of his neck stand on edge as he heard voices that were distant but familiar, commands to _kill the elf_ , screaming, a deep, raspy voice.

Falon insisted on walking ahead of Athim – just in case.

“I’ll be fine, malin, you know that.”

Athim most certainly did not know that, and he grabbed hold of Falon’s shirt and said, “The First won’t b-be happy if you’re hurt.”

Falon shot Athim a look and said, “He’ll be even less happy if you’re hurt.”

“How about neither of you gets hurt?” Varric offered.

And so they began the first attempt to close the Breach. Cullen directed his soldiers to prepare for more to come through, and Lelianna her agents as well. Solas provided clarification that yes, whatever was on the other side of that Breach would not be amenable to conversation.

“Are you ready, Athim?”

Solas said the words in a quiet voice, and Athim answered by raising the mark to the sky and tugging at the fabric of the veil with all his might.

It had to open before it could close.

The demon that emerged was massive, and all that Athim heard was the blood rushing in his head as Cassandra and Leliana and Cullen each barked orders. Falon covered his flank, and for that he was grateful because Creators knew he was no good at this sort of magic. He never had been.

The ice spells he cast made little progress in the fight against the largest demon, so Athim quickly abandoned the idea that he might be useful there and returned his focus to the Breach.

Each successful tug at the seam left the demons who spilled out disoriented and weak, and in those moments the archers could mow them down in a barrage of arrows while Cassandra slashed at the larger demon.

There was one type of combat magic that Athim thankfully excelled at – barriers. He threw a particularly strong one over Cassandra just before the pride demon could stomp her into the dirt, and it recoiled in pain as the barrier repelled the attack.

That was enough to topple it, finally, and Cassandra charged up its failing body before it hit the ground and drove her sword deep into its neck.

Athim could sense as the demon’s death left the Breach vulnerable, and he threw his arm to the sky one last time…

-

In the first day after the Breach was sealed, there was no one who could convince Falon to leave his brother’s side. He cradled him from the moment he collapsed and insisted on being present while the healers checked Athim for injury. Even knowing he had escaped his ordeal unscathed, Falon refused to leave his brother for even a minute.

In truth, Solas wanted another moment alone with Athim – one last attempt to remove the anchor before he would concede defeat. But Falon made that difficult, constantly sitting watch and going so far as to sleep upright in the chair, cracking an eye open at the slightest noise.

Solas recalled that speaking in his native tongue quelled Falon’s distrust, and so the next he entered he came bearing a cup of broth for Athim. “Are you still awake, lethallin?”

Falon nodded, clearly exhausted. “I am. Don’t want to leave him alone again.”

“When’s the last you slept?”

“I fell asleep after Cassandra put me away…been up since then.”

“Go get some rest. I’ll watch him.”

“It’s fine,” Falon said. “I just want to be here when he wakes up so we can talk.”

“Ah. You want to return him to your clan.”

Falon was transparent in his response – maybe because he had not slept, maybe because he did not care to hide it. “Yeah. I do. I don’t really feel safe with all the shemlen around. Do you?”

“Why shouldn’t I?”

“Every time I’ve met humans, they’ve set dogs on me, or tried to burn us out, or…” He huffed. “They’re only leaving him alone now because the thing he need is burned into his arm.”

“What about you?” Solas asked.

“Not sure if you noticed, but Cassandra looked about ready to stick me in the neck for a bit there. And she was the only one I’ve said anything to.”

“You haven’t left this cabin at all,” Solas observed.

Falon shook his head.

“Then perhaps you wouldn’t mind doing me a favor. The alchemist up on the hill has a draught brewing for me – it should alleviate any lingering pain he might be experiencing.”

“And you forgot it?” Falon asked, cocking his head. “That’s convenient. You trying to get rid of me, Solas?”

“I am trying to get you out of this cabin, yes,” Solas said. “Get some air.”

Falon huffed loudly, and said, “After he wakes up.”

“I would be shocked if he wakes today. He overexerted himself and will need time to recover.”

“How long, do you think?”

“It is difficult to say. Two, perhaps three days?” Solas turned back to Athim.

He wondered if Falon would even know what he was doing if he tried to remove the mark at this point. But given how protective he had been of his brother before, he found it a risk not worth taking. Especially if he failed to remove it and injured Athim in some way.

“In any case, I am certain you do not want to spend the next few days staring at a wall. Go get some air. I’ll send for you if he wakes.”

Falon slid out of the chair and skulked towards the door. “Ugh. Fine. The alchemist and right back.”

\--

It was fortunate that Falon had left, because Solas realized quickly he could not remove the mark. It was fully attached to Athim now, and it would be a part of him likely until it killed him. He wasn’t sure how long that would take – maybe a few years, if he was lucky. And Solas questioned how much luck this boy could have at this point.

The anchor was stable for now, and that at least gave him a tool to right this mistake.

That would have to be enough.

When Falon returned, he came bearing a draught Solas did not actually need and a small assortment of pastries wrapped in a thick brown cloth. Despite his complaints, he’d taken a long time in acquiring them.

“Where did those come from?”

“Oh, um, a few elves stopped me on my way and gave me these. I tried to tell them I didn’t need them but…I don’t know. Maybe Athim will want them when he wakes up. Do you want one?”

Solas raised a brow.

“They think Athim’s the Herald of Andraste. I don’t know how they figure,” Falon muttered.

“Ah. And they gave you these pastries because…”

“Oh. Oh they thought I was him.” He touched his face, running his fingers along the vallaslin. “Guess they just heard Dalish and thought…oh.”

He went silent, all of a sudden.

“Is something the matter?”

“It’s just…” He glanced away. “It’s nothing.”

Whatever ‘nothing’ was, it was clearly distressing him. But Solas didn’t pry, instead starting to collect his few belongings. He knew the extent of the damage that could be caused if the Breach were not sealed for good, and he knew what would come of doing so. It would be nothing less than the utter destruction of the world – twice over. He had to sleep, and see what he could discover before it was too late.

“Hey, Solas, do you want one?”

Solas glanced over his shoulder to see Falon offering a rich, buttery pastry, folded into a triangular shape and dusted with sugar. He felt silly even _receiving_ the offer. Ridiculous for being tempted.

“Wouldn’t you rather share them with your brother?”

“Well from what you said, they’ll be stale by the time he wakes up,” Falon said with a shrug. “And also I figured I owe you. For the other day. When I pulled a knife on you. You were just trying to help and, well…”

Ah.

“I hope we’re alright, is what I mean.”

There was a long, ugly pause between them, which Solas finally interrupted by accepting the pastry. “No harm was done.”

That was all it took to make Falon uncoil from the tense pose he’d adopted for nearly the entire time he’d spoken to Solas thus far. It had not even occurred to Solas how stiff Falon had been, that this boy was not naturally as rigid as a stone carving.

Solas hurried out of that cabin. He needed to sleep.

\--

Athim had been to the Fade many times before, but it was rare that he was unable to wake if he really wanted to. Once when he was very young, an accident that occurred while he was entering his third day of a very severe fever. He remembered a spirit calling to him, offering to hold his hand if he needed it. And he took the hand at the time, unaware of the dangers that lurked in the Fade.

The second time was after the crossbow bolt struck him through the shoulder, as he lay bleeding with Falon screaming at his useless body. And he was certain that he had died when he entered the Fade again. He’d felt as if he were moving through a sea of warm honey, trying only to find his brother’s voice. Instead he found Deshanna, meditating with her First, his father.

They trained him, after that, and so he entered the Fade more often, with greater practice. It took heavy meditation to land where he wanted, and Deshanna and the First both warned him there were as many dangers as wonders there, and he should always be cautious who he spoke to. In that way it was no different from strangers he sometimes encountered while traipsing in the woods. Most were simply surprised to see him, but some, like those humans…

If felt like it had been a long time since Athim saw the waking world, and he wondered if he really had died this time.

The Fade here was unfamiliar and Athim didn’t know what resided nearby. He remembered little of the days before. Seeing Falon. Solas. Varric. Cassandra and Lelianna. Commander Cullen. Any of them would have to do at this point. He found he could locate where they stood, almost sort of see their essence, but he couldn’t quite reach them.

Until Solas found _him_.

“Athim. How are you here?”

Although Athim stuttered and stammered and stumbled over his words in the waking world, in the Fade his words seemed to come easier. “I’ve been here before….not here, but _here._ In the Fade. But I feel like it’s been a long time and I should have woken up by now…”

 “Has this happened to you before?”

“A few times,” Athim said thoughtfully. “Once when I was little and sick, and again when,” his hand absently brushed over his collarbone, “I had a run in with some hunters…but normally not for this long.”

And suddenly his ears dipped and his shoulders squared off and he quickly asked – “What about Falon? Is he alright?”

“He is in good health,” Solas said. “You will likely see him when you awaken.”

“He’s with me, then? I mean my body. I mean—”

“Yes. He’s waiting for you to wake.”

“That’s a relief,” he said. “I mean, not that he’s worrying. I’m just glad he’s alright.”

Solas stood in the same place he had been standing, unmoving, and this signaled to Athim that he was beginning to ramble. It was so much easier to speak without his tongue to trip him up that he lost the deliberation that normally accompanied his speech.

“How are _you_ here, then?”

“I’ve always visited the Fade in my sleep.”

Athim couldn’t help but smile. “Then you know how to find things here, right?”

\--

He shouldn’t get attached; he knew.

If he succeeded in restoring his people, every elf would visit the Fade in their dreams. Every place that was built between the Fade and the physical would be restored.

But that did not stop him from delighting in Athim’s curiosity. He had been warned away from the Fade by his teachers – well-intentioned but ignorant. And so to be finally given free reign to explore, with some guidance, was as if he was throwing off all the weight of the world at once.

Solas watched as he sought out memories of villagers past, spirits of Faith and Loss and Curiosity. Especially Curiosity.

Athim was gentle, and earnest, and it was difficult for most not to soften when he spoke to them for a while.

But Solas had to wake up, and when he did his impulse was to check on Athim’s body, see how close to waking he was. As he entered the cabin, bringing along two warm mugs of cocoa, he was unsurprised to see Falon half asleep in a chair, barely cracking an eye to acknowledge Solas’s entry.

“Ah. Falon. You’re awake.”

“Am now,” he said.

“Here. I brought you some cocoa.”

Falon cracked his neck as he stood, then his jaw as he yawned. He accepted the mug and said, “Never had it before.”

“Ah. Not a common find in your foraging?”

“Oh, common enough, but the mugs are difficult to catch,” Falon quipped. “We do trade, sometimes. But usually we trade for grain, not sweets. A couple of the hunters have done that before, but Deshanna gets mad. Like a real quiet kind of mad, like,” he turned his face to a hard line and raised his chin, and in a high, crackling voice he asked “Was that a trade worthy of your clanmates?”

Solas snorted, and took a sip of his own cocoa. Falon soon followed, and his face knotted up quickly and he all but slammed the mug down on the table.

“Too sweet.”

“Is it?”

“It’s _all_ sweet,” Falon said with a cough. “And people _like_ this?”

“I enjoy it.”

“Then you can have mine,” Falon said, setting it down. “Sorry. Good to know I’m not missing much.”

“What about those pastries you were given yesterday?”

“I ate half of one. Got a headache. Didn’t touch the rest of them.”

“Have you left the cabin at all since yesterday?”

Falon was quiet.

“Go get something to eat. I’ll watch him.”

“I’ll be fine,” Falon said.

“I cannot imagine that this is normal for you. Especially given your people’s lifestyle.”

“What do you know about the Dalish?” Falon pried.

“I have encountered your people before,” Solas said slowly. Falon’s face was hard again, his brow knitted slightly together as he listened. “It was my understanding that your people live a nomadic, hunter-gatherer lifestyle and do not sequester themselves in cabins such as this one.”

Falon shook his head. “Not by choice, Solas. This is the first time I’ve had a cabin to sequester myself in. I’m thinking of making a habit of it while I can.”

“I hope you are joking.”

“I don’t know. Makes me wonder how you city folk get out of bed every day, when it’s so warm in here and cold out there.”

“I am hardly city folk,” Solas scoffed.

“Sorry,” Falon said. “I just…the only elves I’ve met have been either Dalish or former alienage elves trying to join up. So you _never_ lived in one?”

“No, I did not. I came from a small village, barely worth mentioning. And when I was able, I left.”

“I guess you couldn’t really have lived in an alienage if you’re a mage,” Falon muttered.

“Why do you not want to leave?” Solas changed the subject. The less they spoke of it, the more time he had to consider his story.

“Don’t want anyone dragging him off while I’m not here.”

Solas laughed.

And Falon didn’t. He was completely serious.

“You helped him,” Falon acknowledged, “But I still don’t trust the shemlen.”

That seemed a common feature of the Dalish, although it was stronger in Falon than in Athim. Solas relented, and said, “Well, hopefully you either reconsider, or he wakes soon.”

Falon snorted derisively. “Well, as long as he talks to me first, I won’t have to worry.”

\--

On the third morning, Solas saw Falon out early, dressed in leathers and carrying a bow. He caught sight of Solas quickly, and nodded, before heading out to the fields.

Solas knew for certain Athim hadn’t awaken yet. He found himself watching from a distance as Falon made his way out to the woods, where he stayed for a time before he returned with two quail and a handful of herbs. When he found Solas waiting for him at the gate, he raised his chin. “I’ll trade you a quail if you teach me to use the stove.”

And so they returned to Solas’s cabin, where Solas showed him how to light the stove and bring it to temperature – assuming that Falon already knew to start a fire when needed and simply using magic. Meanwhile, Falon plucked the birds. Within twenty minutes he’d cleared the first one of its feathers and instructed Solas to rinse it off. When that was finished, he salted it, seasoned it with a bit of ginger and lemon peel, and told Solas to let it rest while the oven heated.

They scarcely spoke, aside from quick instructions as to how to work the stove or where the knives were kept. And after the second bird was cleaned and seasoned and ready for the oven, Solas finally probed for Falon’s thoughts.

“What inspired you to hunt today?”

“Couldn’t stand another second cooped up in there,” Falon muttered. “And I got myself pretty bad trying to brew some tea.”

“You burned yourself? May I see?”

Falon removed his gloves and revealed his wrist, thickly bandaged in a torn piece of cloth. And when he unwrapped that, Solas shook his head.

“You should have told me earlier.”

His skin was marbled and blistered from the burn, and a full band stretched across his wrist and the back of his hand, but he had been silent about it until this moment, not so much as wincing as he did what must have been particularly strenuous labor of plucking birds with such an injury. Solas ran a quick course of healing magic until Falon’s skin fully cycled through the process of blistering and scabbing and finally healing, leaving the faintest purple scar.

If he were at full strength, it would be a simple task to heal him without leaving any mark. Another indication of his failure, to mirror the one on Athim’s hand.

“Thank you. That’s much better.”

They waited around the house for a while, listening to the crackling of the birds’ skin and enduring the smells until finally Solas and Falon removed the birds from the oven. But Falon didn’t move to cut into them right away.

“They’re still hot inside,” he explained. “If you cut them now, all the steam comes out and they get dry.”

And so they waited a little longer, cleaning up the countertop and smothering the fire. Falon washed and tossed a small salad of elfroot and mint to serve with the quail, and when the birds were finally cool he carved them open.

And they ate quietly in the cabin, barely speaking. Neither of them wanted to share much, but they shared a good meal that took the better part of the morning to prepare, leaving Athim in the backs of their minds for a moment.

\--

When Athim woke to an empty cabin, he was surprised.

He knew that Falon had been with him. Now he was nowhere to be found – the only traces of his presence being a still-warm stove and a pile of pastries on the table. One of the cookies had a big bite out of it and had been set back into the pile.

Falon _hated_ sweets.

A huge crowd gathered outside as Athim emerged, all staring at him, human and elves alike. A few dwarves as well. He felt chills up and down his spine as he scanned their faces. He was his clan’s second. He was used to some level of attention.

But Clan Lavellan was forty members strong, and he’d known every one of them by name. This was an entire city full of strangers and soldiers, all whispering to each other.

He smothered the urge to spin on his heel and hide in the cabin, held his chin as high as he dared, and marched into the Chantry.


	3. Old Blood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> These elves are weird.

Poor Falon was in a panic when he realized Athim wasn’t in the cabin—a fact he needn’t have returned to the cabin to confirm but discovered as soon as he emerged from Solas’s. They had been eating in relative quiet, and Falon had been helping him clean with the stove finally out of use. He still had soot on his shins from sweeping under the stove when he sprinted up to the Chantry, dead-set on being the first to speak to Athim.

Fortunately, he’d missed his chance to steal him away.

Solas caught him as he skulked back to the cabin Cassandra had put them up in to wait. “Were you still intending to persuade him to leave?”

“He should have talked to me first, not the Chantry folk.”

Solas shook his head. “The Breach threatens all. Including your clan. Athim understands this and wishes to assist.”

“Might as well bare his throat for Fen’Harel,” Falon muttered.

And Solas paused for a moment before asking, “A Dalish saying?”

“Yeah,” Falon said with a nod. “Fen’Harel, The Dread Wolf. He who hunts alone, all that.”

Solas allowed himself a confirmatory hum. It was laughable to hear his own story relayed from a Dalish boy who didn’t know a fraction of what he’d been through, only stories from stories, mangled over the generations that followed. But then Falon didn’t know who he was, and had no way of knowing. There was nothing about Solas that should suggest his old title to this boy as anything other than a bedtime story. He would have to forgive his ignorance.

He allowed Falon his explanation – let him think Solas was only confused. “It’s said that Fen’Harel tricked the Creators and the Forgotten Ones behind the Veil and locked them away behind it. It’s the Keeper’s job to protect the clan from him, and Athim is a mage. Someday, he’ll be a Keeper too, and that’ll be his job.”

“Ah.”

“Anyway, he’s too trusting.”

“I can concede to that,” Solas said.

“You gathered a lot in a few hours, then,” Falon said incredulously.

Over the past few days, Solas had bounced between finding Falon’s wit refreshing and frustrating. Falon was clever in a way that suited Solas well during the initial catastrophe of the Breach but was an inconvenience now. He supposed there was no harm in telling the truth.

“Your brother has been speaking to me through the Fade.”

Falon’s expression of shock folded to a weary one. “Our First and Keeper say that’s dangerous.”

“It can be,” Solas said, “when done improperly. But Athim has shown himself sensible. And he is in no danger from Cassandra.”

“For now, maybe. But Dalish elves and Chantries haven’t historically been a good combination. I don’t want him getting burned.”

“You called him too trusting,” Solas said. “Have you considered that you are too wary?”

Falon snorted, and pulled his shirt down at the collar, revealing a puckered scar just to the left of his throat. It had to have come from a crossbow bolt. 

“I can’t be wary _enough_ around all these shemlen.”

Falon readjusted his collar, grabbed his bow, and set off towards the Chantry. And Solas didn’t stop him.

\--

Cassandra turned to leave the war room and was immediately met with the other elf staring up at her, his arms crossed and his chest puffed out as much as it could. She might have laughed, were she not so determined to move her feet and begin alerting the troops of the Inquisition. But Falon was not easily moved, and moved to block her path as he said, “What did you people do with my brother?”

“I’m here,” Athim said quietly from the war room. Falon rushed around Cassandra before she could stop him, and threw an arm around his twin. He started muttering in a language Cassandra could not understand, and finally Leliana began ushering them out.

When she replied back in their language, they both paused, and looked up at her in bewilderment.

Falon was the first to break the silence – unsurprising, given his brother’s difficulties. “What did you say to him?”

“They didn’t say anything,” Athim said quietly. “I wanted to help.”

Falon shot a glare at Cassandra, filled with unmistakable rage. He wanted to kill her, and all that she could think was that he needed to get in line.

“I don’t have time for this,” she said. And she left them there in the Chantry.

\---

The Inquisition, Athim learned, was once an order that became the Seekers – the order that Cassandra came from. Like templars, he supposed, but freer, in some way. He had to learn a lot, quickly, and he learned from context, from listening, from asking the spirits in the Fade. Solas was a great help in that – he’d never met anyone who could move so freely through the Fade before. Both the Keeper and First of his clan did what they could, but they treated the Fade, or the Beyond, they sometimes called it, as wild, uncharted territory. It was unknown, and strange, and needed to be treated with utmost caution and care.

And Athim had to take their word for it. He had no one else to teach him.

He did, admittedly, sneak. He couldn’t help it – the temptation was everywhere. Spirits singing forgotten songs, the echoes of lost souls, hunters still searching for their quarry, it was impossible to ignore. He knew, at least, not to barter with them. After all, his father had told him that spirits often dealt in things above their mortal heads, and Athim trusted him.

So he did what research he could.

The Fade was so much easier to explore than the Chantry library, and for once in his life he wasn’t alone in exploring it. Solas was there to meet him, most days, and they had all night to research.

He should not have been surprised when, in his research, he saw a little red fox sitting atop a wall, eyes intently boring into the back of his head.

Solas was just a ways off, observing curiously, silently.

“Babae.”

The fox tilted his head.

Solas did as well, his lips pursed in a curious manner.

“Uh, Babae, this is Solas,” Athim continued. “He’s a friend, and he saved my life. And he’s like me. Solas, this is my dad.”

The fox stood, and paced along the wall, turning his ears towards Athim and his eyes towards Solas. Finally, he sprung off, and in a flash he had transformed from his vulpine form into a sturdy elf with a long braid that would have reached the floor were it not looped back around and pinned to the back of his head. He wore armor – rare for Athim’s father. He must have been travelling.

“Then it’s good to meet you, Solas,” he said, extending a hand. “I am Revassan.”

Solas nodded, and offered a hand. Revassan took his elbow and shook, and then said, “Apologies, friend, but I’ll need a moment with my son if you don’t mind.”

And he turned back to Athim, and began in elvhen, which Athim knew fully well that Solas understood, “ _Does your brother live?”_

Athim chose not to explain. “ _Yes,_ Babae. _No harm.”_

Revassan sighed, deeply. _“_ Mythal enaste…Ghilainnain enaste.”

Athim nodded, and said, quickly, “I can’t come back to the clan just yet.”

Revassan took a deep breath.

“Why?”

Athim offered his left hand, and let the Anchor show.

Revassan watched it with curiosity, suspicion, but said nothing. He crossed his arms and narrowed his brows so the narrow branches of Falon’Din’s vallas’lin twisted in on themselves. Athim did not need to wonder if he had encountered a rift, to know what type of magic it was.

“ _Luck is with you that you live.”_

 _“I know,_ Babae,” Athim said.

“ _How did you find this?”_

Athim could not answer that. He was as ignorant as he had been when he first awoke, questions that were met by a deep void in his memories. He knew nothing. And he was grateful when Solas spoke instead of him.

“Athim has no memory of what caused this,” Solas said. “But it is clearly related to the Breach.”

Revassan regarded Solas quietly, thoughtfully, always calm and respectful even of strangers, even of humans as they threatened the clan. He was strong and sturdy and everything a Keeper should be. But he was First, not Keeper, and he had voiced his intention to stay that way until Deshanna passed.

“Clearly,” Revassan replied with a faint smile. “Ir abelas. I should not have assumed. In any case, I had worried I would be coming to retrieve your bodies. Should I still?”

“No,” Athim answered. “We’re safe.”

Revassan glanced at Solas. “That may be.”

Solas interrupted – “Might I ask – how have you found us here?”

Revassan pointed to the scar in the Fade that indicated the Breach, and said, “I saw the scar where my son was supposed to be…and where my other son was not supposed to be. And as for the templar, he didn’t need his lyrium anymore. It was enough to reach you.”

Athim wondered if Revassan had stolen it, found it on a corpse, or even killed the man. But his face revealed nothing.

Solas offered an understanding nod. Athim wondered if he had any more clues to Revassan’s meaning.  But Solas’s face revealed less than Revassan’s.

“I assume you’ve met Falon as well, Solas?”

“Yes, I have.”

“Has he made much trouble?” _Much_ trouble, he said, knowingly. Of course Falon had made trouble – he’d picked fights with Cassandra since the moment he met her and spent every waking moment glaring at chantry folk and human nobles. He’d not gotten into any physical confrontations, but he was a hair away from them at any given time.

“No trouble at all,” Solas said dismissively.

“I doubt that very much,” Revassan replied. “Athim?”

“He’s kept me safe so far, Babae,” Athim said. “And he hasn’t started any fights.”

Not yet, at least.

Revassan nodded, still skeptical it seemed, and said, “Keep him busy, then, until I get there. That usually helps.”

-

It was not long before the inquiry as to Falon and Athim’s safety came, and shortly after Lelianna sent her reply a further reply came in the form of a Dalish elf at the gates, tall, proud, and carrying a staff of woven sylvanwood and wearing a traveler’s cloak over light, leather armor woven together.

Falon and Athim recognized him from just the description, and neither bothered to hide their excitement as they rushed down to meet the strange elf.

As it turned out, it was their father, the First of their clan. Revassan. As good a name as any, Solas decided when he first heard it, but it reminded him just a little too strongly of his fallen agent, and he chose not to use it directly when he could avoid it. He called him _First._

Revassan greeted his children by swinging a strong arm around each of them and letting his forehead touch each of theirs before he finally released them and spoke more plainly. It was fortunate that he’d come, because where Falon refused to listen to most people, he treated his father with a basic level of reverence.

Revassan was kind enough not to scold Falon in public, but rather informed Athim and the others that they would be going hunting for a few hours, and not to worry.

Athim sat with Solas, as well as Varric, in the tavern for supper while he said, “Falon wasn’t supposed to come, so that’s pr-pr-probably what it is.”

Varric was particularly enthused by this _new_ information, folding his hands on his stomach and leaning back in the chair. “Ha! Course he wasn’t. That’s our Thrasher.”

They ate some lamb stew with bread and Athim picked around the chunks of meat for bits of winter squash instead. “Yams sound g-good right about now,” he muttered distractedly. “Yams and squash with honey…”

“So what was he supposed to be doing?” Varric asked, punctuating the question with a long sip of his beer.

Athim looked up. “Keeper Deshanna gave Falon other res-res-,” he had to pause, and take a deep breath, “responsibilities back home,” he explained. “And sent me alone b-because she wanted me to see the mages and tem…plars for myself, without…you know. It was the only chance I’d g-get. Besides – Falon can be pr-protective. She thought he’d pick fights if he thought I was in danger.”

It seemed Keeper Deshanna knew Falon _very_ well.

“And Revassan? Why did he not accompany you?” Solas asked.

“Pr-probably for the same reasons she didn’t want Falon to come.”

“Pfft,” Varric said. “Sounds like a good family, Squeaker.”

Varric had said he was having trouble thinking of a good nickname for Athim. Falon was, evidently, easier – he’d come up with it the second he saw him fight. _Squeaker_ was almost as bad a name as _Chuckles._ But Athim didn’t seem opposed to it, more pleased that Varric had made friends with him.

“They are,” Athim said, not a trace of doubt in his voice. “Both of them.”

\--

Revassan had two ways of hunting.

First, like any able-bodied Dalish elf, he knew how to string a bow and shoot. He wasn’t as practiced as some, since he spent more time practicing magic, but he could shoot well enough to hunt when it suited him. He was quiet, and solemn, and strong. And even though Falon knew he was in trouble, that he was out here for a scolding, he couldn’t help but be soothed by his father’s presence.

Alternatively, he could turn into a fox, a wolf, or even a bear, and track and chase down his quarry that way. That was rather more frightening, Falon had to admit. He wondered what his father even thought when he chased down hares and deer that way. Fortunately, he wanted to scold him, and it was much harder to scold as an animal than it was to hunt.

They walked in silence for a long while

“You disobeyed me,” he said. “ _And_ Deshanna.”

“I know, Babae,” Falon said. “But Athim—”

“Listen,” Revassan interrupted. “This is not only about Athim. Falon, what would I do if I lost both of you in that blast?”

“That’s not fair,” Falon snapped. “You didn’t lose either of us.”

“But enough people died in there,” Revassan said smoothly, “That it could have been either of you, or both of you. If not the blast, the humans. I told you, Falon, to let Athim go.”

Falon nodded mutely. “I know.”

Revassan sighed.

There was a long moment of silence between them wherein Revassan closed his quiver and slung his bow across one shoulder.

“But you did protect him.”

Falon perked up.

“So Deshanna and I think it is best that you stay. That we stay. But don’t think you’re not in trouble, da’len. You might have your Vallas’lin but that does not mean you can disobey me or Deshanna. You may be too old to listen to your father, but you still need to listen to your First.”

Falon glanced up at his father and said, “Tel abelas, Babae. I came because I thought he might need help.”

“And _this time,_ ” Revassan said, “He did. But there are places that Athim may need to go that you won’t be able to follow. What if it had been _you_ who was hurt? What would that have done to him?”

“I’m always careful, Babae, it wouldn’t have happened.”

Revassan turned on Falon in a second, hooking his foot under Falon’s and pushing his leg out from under him. Falon began to fall, and stopped only because Revassan caught him by the belt…and held a dagger pointed at his neck.

“Always careful, right?”

He put the knife away and helped Falon stand upright.

Falon sighed. That wasn’t fair, he thought, he _knew_ Revassan wouldn’t hurt him. He’d never struck him, he’d only even yelled at him a handful of times. But he had scars to attest to times when he hadn’t expected to be attacked, and had been, so he nodded and said, “Yes, Babae.”

“Good. Now come on. They think we’re out here to hunt. It wouldn’t do to turn up empty-handed.”

\--

It was dark by the time Revassan returned with Falon, each holding one end of a ram as they entered the village. They were promptly redirected to a butcher, who insisted on buying it from them rather than loaning them the tools. The compromise, much to Varric’s delight, was that they would immediately buy it back and have it cooked up for everyone who wanted it, the butcher included. 

A good, free dinner to warm everyone to their new arrival.

Varric rather quickly pulled Falon aside while everyone ate and pointed at Revassan, who was chatting with some of the elves who worked in the camp, his arms crossed but his expression absolutely enthralled. The way Merril had been.

“So that’s your old man, Thrasher?”

“Yep,” Falon said, taking a drink of something hot and floral smelling. Some sort of tea that would make Chuckles’ face curdle. “He wanted to hunt.”

No he didn’t. Athim had said as much, and Varric cracked a wry smirk as he asked, “Only hunt?”

“And talk a bit,” Falon admitted.

He wouldn’t even commit to a lie. Varric barked out a laugh. “So what about?”

“Oh, you know, I wasn’t supposed to come here in the first place, so he had to tell me off for that,” Falon said with a dismissive wave. “But it looks like I’m staying here, since Athim’s gotten himself mixed up in this and needs all the help he can get.”

Unfortunately true, Varric noted. Athim wasn’t much of a fighter. He wasn’t even like Daisy, kind and unassuming until it came to confrontation, to protecting Hawke or the others. Maybe that’d change, with time, and he’d grow old and jaded like the rest of them. It’d take a miracle of epic proportions to keep him whole by the end of this.

Now Falon, he _was_ a fighter. And looking at Revassan, Varric was certain he’d fit right into any novel. A guide to a wandering hero, or even the subject of romance. He had a braid that trailed down to his feet when unpinned, broad shoulders for an elf, and a smile just crooked enough to always look genuine. He wondered if his publisher would let him get away with the scandal of a romance featuring a Dalish elf.

“Well kid, you don’t sound happy to stay,” Varric said.

“You’re the one who said he should cut and run as soon as Cassandra wasn’t looking,” Falon said.

“What? Me? Never.”

Falon looked prepared to argue, but stopped himself at the last minute. He looked up at the Breach and sighed before taking another long sip of his tea. “Well,” he said, “I guess that’s not something we can run or hide from. Or we’d all have done it by now.”

“Yeah,” Varric muttered.

\--

It would not be long before they set out to the Hinterlands to meet Leliana’s scouts, so Solas had gathered, both from what Athim had told him and the others along with what he had gathered himself. There were obstacles, and Athim was not a particularly gifted fighter. So Solas watched from a distance as Revassan attempted to brush him up on combat skills.

He did not know Revassan, but he knew enough of Athim to know that it would take him nowhere. Revassan, wherever he gleaned his skills from, fought with efficiency, with purpose. Even in his brief movements beside Athim the difference was obvious.

Revassan, at least, knew how to attack.

But Athim was gentle, too gentle, and though he could imitate the movements he could not capture the same intent.

What Solas still wondered was how Revassan had come across the magic he used. He did not attempt to teach Athim to transform, but Solas had seen him do as such in the Fade, and Athim had greeted him as if it were normal. Had he perhaps killed the templar he mentioned? Was there even one? In any case, the magics he used were not his own, and were not common among the Dalish.

But there was little time to speak with him directly, and Solas suspected they would have little to discuss. When Revassan was not training Athim, he met with Cassandra, or with Varric. Occasionally, he would come to collect Falon from the alchemist’s shed, where Solas had suggested he occupy himself since his brother was so clearly not in danger with their father by his side. Falon had rolled his eyes, and his whole head to follow, before swiveling around and seeing what needed doing. In only a day or two, he’d unearthed a new enthusiasm for it, and now Revassan and Solas each received complaints that Adan couldn’t sleep in his own cabin with Falon rattling through all the supplies.

When Revassan learned how hostile Falon and Cassandra were, he had directed Falon to the training yards at times he knew Cassandra would be there, and advised him to, “Make peace.”

Falon had argued, “She threatened me with a sword, Babae!”

“And now she is to guard you and your brother with one. Make peace.”

So Falon skulked about the training yard and eventually picked up a blade and began to practice alongside Cassandra. They spoke little, but day by day their shoulders slackened when they walked beside one another, and eventually Cassandra offered an apology – “I am sorry – for how I treated you at first.”

And Falon had only offered a quiet acknowledgement and a nod, and whatever understanding they had reached remained invisible to Solas.

And Revassan had little time to discuss much with Solas, and he kept his greets brief and impersonal when his sons were within earshot. And there was nearly always one at his side, if not both. Solas continued his explorations of the Fade with Athim when the nights came, and so little of Revassan was unusual to his own son that Solas gave up on the idea that he might glean more information from him.

He knew little about his own father, it seemed.

But, eventually, there was a moment when Athim was occupied by discussing things with Josephine and Falon was occupied by training with Cassandra, and neither tailed their father through the small village. And Revassan did, eventually, approach Solas early one morning. He was dressed for travel again, and the thought crossed Solas’s mind that he might return to his clan, might have judged his sons to be capable without him.

But instead he greeted Solas, “It’s good to meet another free mage.”

When Revassan smiled, his lips quirked to the left, and his crows feet pronounced themselves.

“I don’t know that I’ve met any much older than my sons, aside from others in the clans. Did you have anyone to teach you?”

Solas wondered how he should return the sentiment, since persecution of magic was such a _new_ concept to him.

“In a sense,” Solas finally said, offering some semblance of the truth. The sentiments were true, if not the details. “I learned from spirits, and their memories, and the rest I learned in my travels.”

Revassan’s face turned a curious way as he listened. Solas had heard, after all, that Athim’s First _and_ Keeper had warned him against wandering the Fade. He wondered what superstitions he held, what he must think. Would he accuse him of poisoning his son’s mind? Of misleading him?

Their brief meeting in the Fade had not been so hostile, but his son was there to observe. Perhaps that was a conversation to be had in private, away from listening ears.

But Revassan merely asked for clarification, and listened quietly, leaned against a wall while Solas spoke. He was patient, and Solas was patient in turn, and they talked for quite some time until Solas realized that all the workers out in the yards had left, and the moon was high and he and Revassan alone under it.

“Ah, I didn’t mean to keep you up so late with my questions,” Revassan apologized. “We should speak more another time, lethallin.”

And Solas found that he looked forward to it.

They had some more time on the road, travelling to the Hinterlands. Revassan reminded Solas that he was here to keep his sons safe, after all, and he gave Falon permission to come since he expected to be ignored if he refused him.

“If you expect to be ignored, then why give him permission?”

Revassan shrugged. “You have to choose your battles with young ones of that age. Better to get him into the habit of doing what I say while he’s amenable than to fight with him over every little thing.”

Solas cracked a smirk at the explanation. “And that has been successful?”

“Ah, you haven’t had any of your own, have you?” Revassan posited. “One day they think you put the sun in the sky just for them and the next they think you’ve put up clouds out of spite. They’re going to push back, but they’re smart, these two. They always listen, even if they don’t always do what I’d like them to.”

“You must worry for them,” Solas said. “Particularly Athim.”

“Particularly Falon,” Revassan corrected. “I don’t know what trickery led to Athim picking up that mark, but he’s well-protected with Falon nearby. Falon, on the other hand, I worry about.”

“Oh?”

“He’s clever, and resourceful, and strong, but he knows it. He underestimates the dangers of raw bad luck. He doesn’t know just how many things he can’t foresee. That’s what worries me.”

“An interesting observation,” Solas said. Falon had, after all, been so very confident that the Seeker wouldn’t spot him. When that failed, he did not run, but stood in defiance and spat insults at her. Were Cassandra as harsh as her words, things could have ended very badly for him. “So you do not worry for Athim?”

“What? No. I’m his father. Of _course_ I worry.”

Solas laughed.

\--

Josephine was endlessly thankful that the boys’ clan had sent their father. He knew how to charm people, at least. Athim was a sweet boy, but sweet boys were so often eaten alive by the Great Game. And Falon did not even pretend to enjoy the Inquisition’s guests from higher society. He glared at them from some dark, shadowy corner, and if they mistook him for his brother and greeted him as Herald, he did not correct them, and let them think he was Athim as he denied them basic courtesies and introductions.

The ordeal was endlessly confusing, because if Josephine did not witness these events first hand she would only _hear_ that Athim was rude to a guest. She would not hear a word of Falon.

But Revassan, at least, greeted everyone with a smile and a firm handshake, introduced himself as an associate of the Inquisition and apologized that the Herald would not be available to speak to them.

Athim could offer a smile and a kind word, but it was so difficult for him, and rumors were rarely kind.

No, it was better that Athim focus on his studies for now. A few surviving mages, his father, and Solas all contributed, when there was time to spare. And Josephine quickly hired on tutors to make sure that _both_ of the boys knew proper etiquette and history.

She decided that Revassan would be an ideal candidate to discuss the rumors being circulated about the Dalish – since Athim seemed so sensitive and Falon so…rough.

Revassan gladly explained that he was the First of their clan, Athim the second. “Normally, at a certain point our clan would diverge – either I would leave to Keep my own clan, or Athim to become another Keeper’s first. But, as you can see, plans have changed.”

“And what about Dalish life?”

“Well, there’s the obvious. We live on the move, keep ourselves busy with the sort of work that survival demands. But I think that even those who know nothing of us at least know that much. It might be more interesting to know that we make it our mission to find and salvage what we can of Elvhenan – writings, carvings, sculptures. Every Keeper, every First, every Second is a scholar. And others among us as well. Including Falon, when he wants to.”

Josephine was so very tempted to stay and listen, to let Revassan talk and talk until the day was through, and not transcribe any of it. But duty called her to stop him, so she could spin this thread for the skeptics and quell some of their anxiety.

But there wasn’t much time, after all. It was off to Orlais to handle several meetings, and while those in Haven knew the Herald was at least one of the boys, those abroad likely wouldn’t even know the difference between Revassan and his son, much less either of the twins. There had been so many rumors, so many people who greeted Revassan as the Herald because they only heard that he was Dalish…not that he was a child.

But finally, they could use this.

\--

It was late at night, and the camp Leliana’s scout had made was close enough that they could have pushed to reach it. But Cassandra and Revassan agreed it would be better to rest, to temper the young ones’ nerves before they reached a field of battle, where the Templars and Mages still warred with one another and the roads were havens for bandits and predators.

Revassan sat across from Solas, listening to whatever Solas would give him, taking it in with barely a change of expression. He only asked more questions, asked for clarification, for understanding.

Eventually, Solas deigned to turn the questions on him.

“Your transformations. How did you acquire that ability?”

Revassan raised his chin, as if in thought, reaching in recollection. “It was not a pleasant experience,” he said. “But I learned from the Fade, as you learned your magic.”

This surprised Solas. There were techniques to enter the Fade consciously that people of this age, the Dalish included, had learned. Lyrium was one. There were some herbal remedies that could be paired with intense training and meditation as well. That seemed rather more accessible to the Dalish. “How is that?”

“Well,” Revassan said, “My own parents thought sink or swim was the only way to teach. So they threw me into the depths, and I came out on the other end with it. Certainly not something I’d recommend.”

Solas paused. “How do you mean?”

Athim listened curiously from the other end of camp. From his worried expression, it seemed this was a story he’d not been told.

“Come on, Athim, if you’re going to listen you might as well listen closely.”

“Ir abelas,” Athim muttered.

“Tel abelas,” Revassan replied lightly. And he waited for Athim to come and sit by the fire, and they mirrored each other in their cross-legged pose. “When _you_ earned your Vallas’lin, Keeper Deshanna sent you to cleanse a burial site. When I earned mine, my father led me into an ancient crypt, one deep in the ground, and pushed me in. I was hurt from the fall, but worse still were the dead inside, shambling corpses. Ghouls. I had only my magic to defend myself, and once they were finished, I had nothing left to free myself from the crypt with. I had only one option, if I wanted to live. And I wasn’t quite ready to die.”

The image of a young man, not much older than Athim, if at all, with a bare face, lying on the ground nursing a sprain, a break, came to mind. Fire seemed it would suffice against such enemies, and it would not require much physical movement. But that did not explain his entry to the Fade.

Blood magic, Solas realized. He’d turned to blood magic.

He’d fueled the ritual with his own injury.

But Revassan neglected that detail. It remained unspoken, implied, for Solas’s benefit but not Athim’s.

“I gained entry to the Fade, and there a spirit, a shadow behind a mirror, offered me a trade. Knowledge for knowledge. A piece of me for a power that would let me escape. And I was desperate.”

A shadow behind a mirror – an eluvian, most likely, with some ancient spirit trapped behind. Or worse.

Athim blinked. “What did you g-g-ive it?”

Revassan looked down at Athim. “It’s hard to say, da’len. Whatever it took from me, it took all memory of it as well. And in exchange, it taught me to turn into an animal.”

“The fox?”

“No,” Revassan said. “The owl.”

“I’ve yet to see you turn into an owl,” Solas said.

Revassan cocked his head. “You haven’t?”

“No, babae,” Athim said. “You haven’t used it since you got here.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Revassan said lightly. “I’ll show you another time, then. When there’s cause for it.”

“What about the others?” Athim asked. “How did you le-le-ugh.” He abandoned his common for a Dalish form of Elvhen. Recognizable, but haphazardly constructed. “ _How did you learn them?”_

“Observation,” Revassan said, “Practice…it all came easier after the first one. I never needed to trade for it again, at least.”

The question of what Revassan had given up for it was still fresh in Solas’s mind as he listened to the exchange. What _type_ of spirit, as well. Revassan seemed well, in good health and of sound mind. What did it take? His memories? His knowledge of some mundane craft? He needed more information, and with no idea what Revassan was before he gave away a part of himself, he knew he was unlikely to get it.

It did, however, confirm what Solas had already wondered.

Revassan was different.


End file.
